


High and Higher

by crackinthecup



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Celebrimbor in Gondolin, Character Study, Gondolin, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Maeglin has not been the same since his return from Angband. These days he spends most of his time thinking, about what he has done, about what has brought him to this point, and even Celebrimbor struggles to get through to him.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Maeglin | Lómion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	High and Higher

The setting sun lit the white walls of Gondolin in a gentle, blushing glow. From his perch on a balcony high up in the palace’s tower, Maeglin watched the light slowly fade from the sky. He stood still as stone, unmoved by the merry specks of lantern-light in the streets below or the peals of laughter in many a rooftop garden.

His eyes were fixed on the peaks of the Echoriath rearing cold and jagged in the North. He knew what lay beyond those mountains: miles upon miles of dead, dusty plains, and then like an injury upon the face of the earth, the impregnable might of Angband. 

How long ago was it that he had been captured, taken before Morgoth’s throne? Hours, days, perhaps even months. It seemed to him that his life split cleanly into _before_ and _after_. Nothing that had come before seemed to matter anymore. Every joy and every sorrow, every hope he might once have had, they were all dim and distant, belonging to a stranger who used to bear his name.

He felt like he had waited for this moment all his life: the final, irrevocable proof that he was rotten to the core, a no-good nobody as his father would have said if he were still alive. There was no coming back from this. Gondolin would fall, Idril would be his, and he would have to learn to live with himself.

He would have to learn to live with the knowledge that this was what he wanted, what Morgoth had promised him. That dread Power had bent his eye upon him, had dug up all of his innermost fears and desires. And even as Maeglin had quailed under the brooding malevolence of Angband, Morgoth’s words had seemed fair. 

Idril would wed him, he would be a lord of lords, he would be revered, adored, he would _belong_. He would finally have a place to call his own, a little corner of the world all for him.

Was that too much to ask?

At the time, it had seemed like no less than he deserved. He had agreed to Morgoth’s terms. He had spilled Gondolin’s secrets, had mounted a horse and sped back across the Anfauglith before anyone realised that the Hidden City was hidden no more.

It all seemed a blur to him now. A swirling mist of voices and faces, secrets and treacheries, and through it all Morgoth’s words shone like richest gold: _you shall have her, son of Eöl, you shall have everything..._

The only moment that Maeglin could remember with clarity was during his ride across the Anfauglith. The endless dust had muffled the hooves of his horse, the stars had wheeled overhead with no care for the trackless miles, and Maeglin had caught himself thinking of the sea: how he could turn his horse west, ride it into the depths of Belegaer and disappear from the world, and still there would be no way to undo what had been done, what _he_ had done.

Maeglin wanted to feel like he had made a mistake. It would have been easier, falling to his knees before Turgon and begging his forgiveness. It would have been the right thing to do, making sure that Gondolin would be ready, would be able to meet the black challenge of Morgoth's armies when they came pouring over its white walls.

But even here amid the tinkle of fountains, far away from the malice of Angband, Morgoth's promises still seemed so fair, so bright and _just_. They turned Maeglin’s dissenting thoughts away with ease. Since his return to Gondolin, Maeglin had made his way through life like a sleepwalker, treading the path that Morgoth had set him on, always heading towards that single solitary outcome as if no other possibility had ever existed.

Had Morgoth placed him under his evil influence, or was this all Maeglin’s doing, some dark part of him willing to cast aside everyone and everything he knew for Idril to finally be his, for all the fulfillment that would bring?

Did it even matter?

Maeglin sighed. He could hear footsteps on the winding staircase leading up to the balcony. He quickly set such thoughts aside for a later time, keeping his mind carefully blank even as his gaze remained fixed on the northern peaks of the mountains.

A few moments later, Celebrimbor came to a stop next to him. Maeglin did not turn to face him.

"I always find you in the oddest of places these days," Celebrimbor said lightly. "Always high up. I'll find you perched in one of the eagles’ eyries next.”

Maeglin made a soft noise, distant and noncommittal. Celebrimbor was right, more perceptive than he gave himself credit for. High and higher, where the light shone more brightly, where the air was less suffocating; that’s where Maeglin had wanted to be ever since his escape from Angband.

No – not _escape_. He hadn’t escaped. They had let him go. He was in league with Morgoth now. His agent in the Hidden City.

Maeglin swallowed, feeling that bile should be pooling on his tongue, but it wasn’t. He shook his head, forced himself to look at Celebrimbor.

His friend – his _lover_ , though that seemed like a lifetime ago – deserved so much better than this.

“It’s easier to breathe up here,” Maeglin said in a quiet voice.

Celebrimbor tried to hide the concern from his face, but he didn’t succeed. At the sight, something twisted in Maeglin’s chest, something hot, something sharp.

“What happened, Lómion?” Celebrimbor asked gently. “You have been... different since that failed mining expedition. If you are grieving the deaths of the _neri_ and _nissi_ who accompanied you, then that is okay, you can take as much time as you need. But if something else happened, I would like to know.” Celebrimbor laid a hand on Maeglin’s own, giving him a gentle squeeze, applying just the right amount of pressure so that Maeglin would find the touch soothing rather than intrusive. “I can help.”

Maeglin stayed very still. He was not looking at Celebrimbor, but at the patch of starry sky just above his head. “Nothing else happened.”

Celebrimbor’s face crumpled at his words. It made him look disarmingly young. “I know when you’re lying, love.”

 _As long as you don’t know what I’m lying about_ , Maeglin thought, and the feeling in his chest, the ache and the burn, grew nearly unbearable. The years he had spent with Celebrimbor had been some of the happiest in his life. A happiness where he did not have to think or plan or second-guess himself: simply working at Celebrimbor’s side in the forges, or pressing lazy kisses to his lips in some secluded corner of the city, or lying next to him in the gentle light of early morning, finding an odd sense of peace in the organised chaos of Celebrimbor’s chambers.

Maeglin gave Celebrimbor a wan smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he said aloud.

They were so close that Maeglin could feel Celebrimbor’s body heat radiating like a furnace beside him, but to Maeglin it felt like a great chasm lay between them, an insurmountable distance.

He supposed that this lovely thing between them had never been meant to last. Celebrimbor made him happy, yes, but in his heart of hearts Maeglin still felt like something was missing, like he had been made wrong, unable to slot into his designated place in the world.

“Make sure to tell me if there’s anything I can do,” Celebrimbor said, kind and earnest as he always was. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Maeglin said nothing.

Celebrimbor nudged into his shoulder. “I’ll take you up into the mountains, as high as we can go, if that would make you feel better. It would be beautiful on a night like this. I could point out the constellations to you, like Ammë used to do for me when I was young. She would take me up to the heights of the Pelóri, just the two of us, and she would hold me in her arms. I was afraid at first. Those mountains are tall, taller than anything on these shores, and I could not look away from the sheer drop below us. But Ammë would tell me that she would not let me fall, and she would tilt my face up to the sky, and it seemed like the whole world was made of stars.”

Celebrimbor paused. He slipped his fingers through Maeglin’s own. The rings he wore pressed warm and solid into Maeglin’s skin.

“I won’t let you fall either, Lómion.”

Overhead, a passing cloud darkened the stars, and for a brief moment the world seemed flat, lightless, a paper replica of grander things.

 _Too late,_ Maeglin thought, shivering under that strange, lightless sky. _I already have_.


End file.
